by Christine Makepeace, Contributor

In recent years the phenomenon of “good for her” cinema has exploded. From Lupita Nyong'o in Us, to Florence Pugh in Midsommar, there is a desire to see women not just succeed, but transform. The ladies of the “good for her cinematic universe” have no choice but to destroy all that’s held them back. And as viewers, we’re thrilled to watch them do it. Unfortunately, many of the subgenere’s more recent entries get top billing, leaving films like 2013’s Stoker woefully unrepresented. But even 10 years after its release, Park Chan-wook’s English-language debut stands out from the pack.

The screenplay, written by Wentworth Miller, follows India (Mia Wasikowska) and her mother Evelyn (Nicole Kidman) as they navigate the sudden death of the family’s patriarch. As the narrative unfolds, we see just how close India and her father Richard (Dermot Mulroney) were. This hole in the family is filled by Richard’s mysterious, and estranged, brother Charles (Matthew Goode). India is at once wary and fascinated, intent on figuring out just who Uncle Charlie is. He’s enigmatic. Handsome. He appears to be the perfect man, ready and willing to usher his bereaved extended family through their harrowing loss. But, like India, Uncle Charlie isn’t exactly who he seems.

Stoker is a lush, familial story that shares much in common with Alfred Hitchcock’s Shadow of a Doubt. Miller himself has cited the film as an inspiration for Stoker. The character of Uncle Charlie, a constant in both films, isn’t trustworthy in either. But in Shadow of a Doubt, young Charlie approaches the sudden distrust of her once-beloved uncle far more traditionally than India: she digs for clues and stays vigilant. But India is built different, and in Stoker, her Uncle Charlie is a perfect stranger. And although her initial caution and suspicion are what you’d expect from a heartbroken 18-year-old, India’s reaction to Charlie’s crimes are far from normal.

Uncle Charlie is a monster. He murders with ease and abandon, his blood lust almost preternatural. And this fascinates India, it drives her toward her own awakening, a puberty of sorts. She sees herself in Charlie’s predatory ways, and she tries it on for size. In one of the film’s most surprising and explosive scenes, a young man attempts to rape India. While she fights him off, we see Charlie approach. As the man straddles India’s prone body, Charlie breaks his neck with a belt. Wide-eyed, all India can do is watch. After the incident, India showers, streaks of dirt swirling down the drain. She cries out, face screwed up in a sour grimace. We assume she’s feeling anguish or regret, but that’s not the case. India is actually masturbating to the memory of her assailant's snapped neck. The revelation is electric, instantly redefining India’s role in the story. She is not a little detective. She is not a damsel. India is an entity, precise and dangerous, just like her good old Uncle Charlie.

As Stoker unravels, it becomes clear that India has always been a little different. Her father’s attention—the hunting trips Evelyn frequently mentions—are an attempt to redirect her savage inclinations. Having seen the depths of his brother’s depravity, Richard simply wanted different for his daughter. Charlie’s sudden appearance—on India’s 18th birthday—positions him as a new kind of patriarch. While her father taught awareness and restraint, Charlie is more interested in unleashing what bubbles beneath her surface. India slips into the brutality as if she were born for it. Her father’s teachings are thrown aside. Her mother, whom she’d previously treated as an annoyance, is fully rejected. Uncle Charlie and his poisonous, vile influence is the victor. But India is smart, and tricky, and this is not her final form. Her true self will not be defined by the adults in her life.

India possesses an agency that often seems secondary in “good for her” cinema. Anya Taylor-Joy ascends because of an offer from the Devil. Samara Weaving is able to win the day in Ready or Not because of a malevolent entity. In Midsommar, it’s the cult’s intervention that sets Florence Pugh on her path. But in Stoker, India builds herself from the scraps of her family. She chooses what pieces suit her best. She chooses where to focus her fury. By subverting everyone’s expectations, she becomes the woman she wants to be. Uncle Charlie is smart, and tricky, but he underestimates his niece. In his final act of sadism, Charlie uses his belt in an attempt to strangle India’s mother. His overconfidence, his belief that he knows India on some sublime level, is a liability. India may not be on the best terms with her mother, but she is also unwilling to let Charlie dictate the rules of engagement, so India shoots and kills him. This is her final form: an amalgam of people who have touched her life. As India herself says in the film’s opening, “I’m not formed by things that are of myself alone. I wear my father’s belt tied around my mother’s blouse. And shoes which are from my uncle.” India constructed the ideal version of herself.

When we say “good for her,” the “her” in question often has blood on her hands. And India is no different. After burying her uncle in the yard, alongside the bodies he’d already discarded, India leaves her childhood home. This is the real India, in all her fabricated, actualized glory. She leaves the nest, claws sharpened, ready to take on the world. And honestly, good for her. Uncle Charlie should’ve known better than to try and harness India’s power. The same can be said for all the women in this cinematic universe, those who embraced the darker aspects of themselves to find catharsis, fulfillment, and acceptance. Good for all of them. And good for us, because now, we have a blueprint.